


the only reason you speak is to state that you're mine

by griima (soaringslash)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Blood, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Degradation, Dick mutilation, Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, No Aftercare, PTSD, Possible Stockholm Syndrome, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Harassment, Unhealthy Relationships, Vomit, dubcon, felix says sow and its a bad time, unsexy choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 17:34:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20952236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soaringslash/pseuds/griima
Summary: “And yet inhuman you still are. … Tell me, boar, what point does a beast serve to a man?”“To be used,” Dimitri answers softly.





	the only reason you speak is to state that you're mine

**Author's Note:**

> reuploaded because i had a panic last night and deleted it lmao
> 
> anyway, heed the warnings. im serious. this is nasty. take a break if you need to, no one's forcing you to read anything

  


Ever since the Tragedy, Dimitri has screamed in his sleep. Felix knows this.

The years he had spent away from him had been bliss. He had slept well without the sound of the restless prince’s nightmares ringing through the night.

And now, again, he finds himself subject to them.

The monastery walls, thick as they are, are not enough to block them out. Dimitri’s cries carry to his ears through nearly a foot of solid rock. 

Felix hates it. 

He tries to close his eyes to the noise, but it does little to help. Something inside him grows closer to snapping with each muffled cry until he too wants to scream.

It is utterly _maddening._

Felix throws off his covers and storms out into the hall. He bangs his fist against Dimitri’s door.

It is a pleasant surprise when it swings open without resistance. 

Felix steps into the room. It is dark, but the faint light from the hall filters in and allows him to make out the form of the prince.

He is coiled up at the corner of his bed, his back pressed to the wall. He clutches his sheets to his chest with the white-knuckled grip of one hand while the other clamps uselessly against his mouth. His face is crumpled and wet and snotty and reminds Felix of nothing so much as a used tissue.

He _hates_ it.

“Shut up, boar,” he snarls. He crosses the room in a few confident strides and takes perverse pleasure in how Dimitri shrinks away.

To see him so weak. So vulnerable. So absolutely _abhorrent. _The hatred that burns in his heart drips down to pool low in his gut.

His hand shoots out to grab Dimitri by the hair and yank him forward. The tip of his nose brushes against his pelvis.

“Bet you wouldn’t be so loud with a dick down your throat,” he sneers. 

Before he’s even certain of what he’s doing, his nightclothes are on the floor. He hooks his thumbs into the sides of Dimitri’s mouth to pry it open. He rocks his hips forward.

Dimitri manages a few watery noises of distress, but his panic-locked muscles won’t let him move. Tears roll down his cheeks.

_please,_ is about the only coherent thought he can form as Felix thrusts into his mouth, _stop._

Felix’s bruising grip stretches his lips wider.

Something whispers against his ear. It sounds like Glenn. It sounds like failure. It sounds like pathetic hope, and it says,

_maybe if you let him, he will forgive you._

_maybe,_ it chants as he gives up his little resistance.

_maybe,_ as he swirls his tongue around the head.

_maybe,_ as Felix grunts in surprise and begins to fuck his mouth with renewed vigor.

_maybe,_ as Felix’s hand locks his head into place and he cums down Dimitri’s throat, holding him there until he is finished. 

Felix pulls back. He wipes his hands off on Dimitri’s sheets, and turns with a scoff,

“Boar and whore do rhyme, after all.”

  
  
  


The next day, Felix gives no acknowledgement of what has transpired between them, and the little flicker of maybe-hope in Dimitri’s chest sputters pathetically.

_not enough not enough, _it hisses, static in his ears, and his ghosts join gladly in. _not enough not enough not enough-_

“What’s wrong, boar?” Felix’s voice slices through the crescendo. 

Their swords crack together, splinters flying.

“Last night,” Dimitri begins, but anger flares hot and bright in Felix’s eyes and the next thing he knows he’s flat on his back and Felix is on top of him.

Felix digs his knee into his stomach. His hands wrap tight around his throat; Dimitri’s pulse flutters painfully beneath his thumbs.

Felix spits in his face.

Dimitri tries and fails to breathe. Felix leans his weight forward. The increased pressure on his stomach is making bile rise in his throat, but it catches where the swordsman’s fingers dig deep into his neck and it burns burns burns and his vision is growing strange and fuzzy and-

“What are you doing,” Byleth’s flat voice cuts the air. Dimitri can barely hear over the ringing in his ears, but Felix releases his neck and rises to his feet.

Dimitri coughs. Gags. Spits saliva and stomach acid into the dirt between gasps for air.

The professor continues, “Strangling your allies isn’t gonna get you anywhere, Felix.” Their brow is furrowed slightly, which is an impressive display of emotion by their standards. 

“That _thing _is no ally of mine,” Felix snaps back.

Byleth sighs. “Both of you, go back to your rooms. I’ll speak with you later.” They bend to pick up the training swords.

“Y-Yes,” Dimitri stammers as he struggles back up. Felix only glares at their professor, but he knows when he is being dismissed.

They both slink out of the training grounds with their heads hung in shame. Dimitri’s eyes dart over to where Felix glowers beside him.

_why are you walking beside me?_ he wants to ask.

_and what was… last night?_

They turn the corner, and, as if in answer to the questions he never asked, Felix’s hand slides down to the curve of his ass and squeezes.

  


Byleth doesn’t get around to talking to them before class starts. There’s a strong possibility they forgot entirely. It wouldn’t be the first time.

So Felix and Dimitri make their way back to the classroom - separate, this time, and Dimitri’s heart is in his throat with how he feels Felix’s glare upon him.

He huddles into his seat and bites his lip.

Felix sits next to him.

“F-Felix?” he asks. His voice is a frail squeak - _nothing befitting of a future king,_ the ghosts oh-so-helpfully remind him.

Felix does not reply. He props his chin up with one hand as he leans over the table.

Hidden from their classmate’s eyes, Felix’s fingers deftly navigate Dimitri’s upper thigh. Each touch is forceful. Purposeful.

It hits him right as Felix reaches his groin_ (slumping forward more to hide the motion, looking incredibly disinterested); _he’s being groped. That’s what this is.

As soon as the thought forms, he feels his cheeks heating up. His throat burns.

“Behave,” Felix murmurs. A squeeze.

Dimitri head dips a fraction in a nod. He sits still and does his best not to squirm, but somehow he can sense that this is still not enough.

Felix’s touch disappears. Felix himself is now standing. Leaving. Byleth does not acknowledge him at all, but they do catch Dimitri’s gaze as he stands to follow.

They say nothing, and he feels both disappointed and relieved.

  


The door to Felix’s room has barely closed when he slams Dimitri against the wall.

“You dirty slut,” he growls. “Was that really all it took?”

Dimitri stares at him, uncomprehending. He follows Felix’s gaze and- Oh.

His body doesn’t feel like his own as Felix tears his clothes away. 

_it isn’t,_ the ghosts suggest helpfully._ it’s his._

And that clears things up enough that he doesn’t try to bring himself back to reality the way he usually would. 

Felix forces him to his knees, but he doesn’t feel the stone against his bare skin. He doesn’t feel anything at all. 

It is, then, something of a surprise when Felix thrusts into him and all the sensation comes flooding back.

  
  
  


It continues for several weeks. Dimitri takes the punishment mechanically. The ghosts and Felix blend together; they all sound the same as they tell him he is dirty and irredeemable and wrong.

He, of course, finds no reason to argue.

And then one day Felix’s voice vanishes from the chorus. 

There are no dagger-sharp eyes on him as he swings his lance. It should not matter, but he feels the absence keenly. He does not like it, and tries to banish his dread by losing himself in his training.

It does not work. His thoughts twist themselves into knots.

Where is Felix? _Where is Felix?_

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, and he cannot hide the way he jumps.

“... Your Highness,” a voice says. Dedue’s voice.

Dimitri feels like his ears are full of cotton. Panic bubbles in his throat, in his stomach, fills him head to toe until he is nothing but a knot of coiled anxiety. He can barely make out the words Dedue is saying.

“... You have seemed distracted, lately.”

“Where’s Felix?” he blurts, cutting his retainer off. He realizes that this is not the proper way to carry out a conversation. He notices the hurt that flashes across Dedue’s expression. 

He cannot bring himself to care. 

“... He is on the second floor, I believe. Hiding from Rodrigue. Why?”

Dimitri’s words die in his throat, and all he manages is a sort of high, keening whine. It is somewhat better than breaking down in tears he can feel burning behind his eyes, but only somewhat.

_stupid boar,_ his father sneers, _you should have thought of that._

He turns around in a daze. Maybe Dedue tries to stop him. He does not know.

It does not matter.

  


Felix knows his footsteps. Dimitri knows this fact, and so he isn’t particularly bothered when, without turning, Felix snarls, “What are you doing here? I don’t want to see your fucking face. It makes me nauseous.”

Dimitri nearly cries with relief.

As it stands, he lets out a choked sound that makes Felix face him.

“Pathetic,” he says, but there’s something softer to the word this time. He reaches to cup Dimitri’s face. “... You missed me. What a loyal beast you are.”

That tiny praise makes his heart soar.

Felix runs his thumb over the prince’s damp, pale cheek. “I do not fraternize with beasts, but you are… special. You always have been.”

Dimitri whimpers. A few tears spill over the edge, and Felix wipes them away.

“And yet inhuman you still are. … Tell me, boar, what point does a beast serve to a man?”

“To be used,” Dimitri answers softly.

It is the answer Felix has taught him, and the one he is looking for. 

He smiles - it is tight and cruel, but it is a smile nonetheless. “Good,” he murmurs, and Dimitri melts like butter in his hands.

  


It is that memory - _“Good,”_ and then the smile - that keeps him up at night. He replays it over and over in his head, pumping his dick vigorously in his hand.

_Good._

If he could hear that more -

If he could please him more - 

If -

All of a sudden he is pulled back into himself with an agony unlike anything he’s ever known. Colors desaturate before his eyes. He’s dead, he’s dying, this will kill him or has killed him and it _hurts so much_ and -

Dimitri screams.

  


It is bad enough to have to look at Dimitri’s disgusting, snotty face, Felix thinks. It reminds him of the last time the prince’s cries brought him here. 

The sheets, too, are disgusting, crusted with cum and vomit.

But it is neither of those things that make his gut churn and clench.

No, that would be the sight of Dimitri’s hand around his own mangled cock, limp and horrifically twisted and painting the inside of his thighs red with blood.

Felix has seen a lot of vile things in his time, but this one easily claims first place.

“Disgusting,” he spits. He means it more than he ever has before. “Are you such a monster you can’t even touch yourself without breaking everything you get your dirty paws on?”

He does not wait for an answer. He pulls Dimitri from the bed, and the prince crumples bonelessly to the floor. He’s still screaming.

Felix wedges his boot against the back of his neck and steps down, “Quiet.”

Dimitri’s face grinds against the floor. His eyes fog over in a way that has become blissfully familiar to Felix this past month. 

There are bruises decorating his pale ass and thighs, and Felix’s hands line up perfectly with the marks when he grips Dimitri’s hips.

“Dirty sow,” he growls. He forces himself into the prince, drawing out a little string of incoherent whimpers and moans. Dimitri’s voice spills from his lips like drool.

When he is done, Felix leaves him there, snivelling on the floor. 

Dimitri weeps.

  
  
  


Five years later, it is Felix’s voice that snaps him back into his body on the field of battle, to where there is blood on his hands and corpses at his feet. 

The fight is over.

He tenses as Felix approaches. The swordsman glares up at him with his hands on his hips. The lines of his face have grown harder, deeper, anger and frustration carving themselves into his features.

_Boar,_ he had called from a distance.

Here, closer, he murmurs, “Sow.”

Dimitri’s heart beats a frantic pace in his ribcage. He cannot move.

“Look at you, bearing your true self to the world.” His lips curl into a dangerous smirk. He lifts his hand in a casual motion that still makes Dimitri flinch, and gestures toward the rest of the army. “See the way they look at you, sow? Their disgust. Fear. Pity. They struggle to look at you at all.”

Dimitri sways. He wants to run. He wants to hide. He wants to sink back into the familiar embrace of his ghosts, because even if they have Felix’s voice they do not have Felix’s eyes.

“Do you think any of them would have you?” Felix asks. 

Dimitri shakes his head, slow.

“Say it.”

“... No. They wouldn’t,” he rasps.

“Good boy.”

His chest clenches painfully at that. His heart gives an involuntary flutter, and a whimper escapes his throat without his say-so.

Felix’s hand comes to rest on the hollow curve of his cheek. 

“I, however,” he cooes, and he allows Dimitri to adjust to his touch, to lean into it, “have always known. I know you. I saw beneath your princely mask, saw a dirty beast, and still I have taken you. Who else would?”

“... No one.”

Felix pats his gaunt face, once. “Correct. Come along, sow. I’ll show you a place you can hide.”

Dimitri follows.

  



End file.
